


everything, my everything

by boston_sized_city



Category: The AM Archives (Podcast), The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Huge AM Archives Spoilers so Fair Warning, In Which I Make Jackson Sad, Listen I Promise I Love These Characters, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26200684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boston_sized_city/pseuds/boston_sized_city
Summary: The AM loses one of its best agents.Jackson loses everything.
Relationships: Jackson Crawford & Joan Bright, Jackson Crawford & Mags Densmore, Jackson Crawford & Mark Bryant, Jackson Crawford/Owen Thompson | Agent Green
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	everything, my everything

**Author's Note:**

> CW: (Mentioned) Character Death
> 
> \- part of the jackson/owen agenda and my obsession with secret dating aus -

Jackson wiped his hands on the fabric of his shirt, less of a practicality and more of a habit.

When he looked up, the others didn't look as relieved or happy as he'd hoped (maybe not happy, but). Especially Joan.

Joan looked... Destroyed. Then Jackson saw- Blood on the front of her shirt, her hands. "Fuck- Joan- Is that yours?"

She shook her head slightly, bloody hands shaking. Her breathing was unsteady, and she was less talking and more making small, scared sounds.  


"Owen," she managed eventually. It didn't even sound like a name.

Jackson wasn't sure he'd heard that correctly. She'd said a different name. Hadn't she?

"Who's blood is that?" he asked, the words nearly catching in his throat.

"It's Owen's," Joan said, her voice shaking.

It was sure this time. She'd said Owen. That was Owen's- That was  _ his _ blood on her hands.  _ On Helen's hands. _

Dr. Sharpe had been a punch to the gut. This was...

His thoughts sank. So did he, feeling like he was underwater. He couldn't hear Joan say something else, or another voice that came after. He'd never understood what tunnel vision was before now.

He couldn't see, couldn't breathe. Nothing was making sense. His chest tightened.

And then he blacked out completely. 

When he came to, he was on the ground, Mags leaning over him, looking concerned and scared. There were tears in her eyes, though she looked better than Joan had. "Jackson? You're awake!" Her eyes brightened- As much as they could, given.

He managed to sit up, leaning back a little on his bruised arm. His head hurt. His chest hurt. "What...?" And then he remembered, and a sharp rush went through his skull. Briefly, he regretted waking up. "Owen."

Mags frowned, the light in her eyes dimming. Jackson saw another tear fall. "He was dead before you even got to Helen, Action Jackson," she said gently, helping hold him up. She kept her hand on his arm, lightly rubbing it over the bruise.

"Dead," Jackson repeated. His eyes stung. He closed them. It felt hot. The word echoed in his mind.  _ Dead. _

Owen was dead. And he wasn't.

He'd survived doing the most dangerous task any one of them had been given. And he had  _ won _ .

But he'd lost everything. Everything had lost. 

Everything hadn't even had a chance.

* * *

"Jackson?" He looked up, blinking as his eyes caught someone standing in front of him. Mark. Right. "Are you going to be okay by yourself?"

He didn't think he would be. He looked around- At Oliver following Lee Sandoval, at Mags climbing into Sam's car. At Mark, in front of him, looking at him.

"Yeah," he said instead. Because he had no reason not to be. Not one that they knew. He swallowed his emotions.

"If you're sure- But Joanie said you can stay with us for now. After everything, she doesn't feel good about any of us being alone right now."

There it was. An excuse. An opportunity. He grabbed it. "Yeah- Yeah, no, that's- Thank you."

He followed Mark to the car he'd taken. Joan was already in the passenger seat; She still looked like she was in shock, her hands shaking in her lap.

Jackson sat down in the back, watching out the window as the AM building faded into the background.

And he closed his eyes.

The first thing he saw was Owen. Smiling and happy and  _ alive _ and-

He was gone. Before the picture was even solid in Jackson's head, it was gone.

But he could still hear his voice. Bright and bubbly, and sweet. He heard the things everyone heard. The pep talks he always gave, his positive affirmations of every day. Annoying as they were. 

He heard the things no one else heard. The soft "good morning"s, the gentle "I love you"s. He would miss those. He already missed those

He already missed  _ him _ .

"Jackson?" He looked up. Joan was looking at him through the front mirror. Her eyes were red, and he saw his were, too. When had he started crying? "Are you okay?"

"Yeah- Fine. Sorry. Just- shock." He leaned back in his seat, looking out the window again. Was it raining? No. No, that wasn't rain. He was crying.

Now he was really crying.

This time, Joan didn't say anything.

And Jackson just sobbed, breaking down in the back of his friend's car. 

* * *

The house was smaller than Jackson had expected. It was nice.

He'd managed to stop crying- at least, enough- by the time they parked in the driveway, and got out with the other two.

Joan went inside without saying anything, but Mark lingered. He looked over at Jackson, his expression hard to read. "Really, are you okay?" he asked.

No. No, and he never would be. He wanted to cry again, and use his ability to run as far away from everyone else as possible.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said instead.

"It's okay if you aren't," Mark said. "I don't know who would be, after all that."

He could tell him. Right now. Mark would be the first person to know, if he did.

He looked up, studied him. His throat burned, and for a second he wasn't sure he  _ could _ tell him, even if he really did want to.

"I'm not," he admitted. His voice was scratchy and weak. He'd never felt like this and he hated it.

"Do you need, like, a hug?" Mark asked, sounding unsure. Jackson didn't blame him, he didn't really know how to react to sad people, either. 

And he did kind of want a hug. "Yeah."

Mark hugged him. It felt nice- He usually didn't let people hug him. He swallowed thickly, trying to keep his emotions down. It didn’t work for long.

He broke off the hug, immediately apologizing for getting Mark’s shoulder wet, wiping his eyes with his sleeve as he did.

“Hey, it’s fine,” Mark shrugged it off. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the house as if trying to decide whether or not to go inside. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked after a minute.

  
Jackson didn’t. He wanted to bury it so far down that even he forgot about it. He wanted it  _ gone.  _ He remembered, vaguely, someone once telling him that the best way to get better was to talk about your problems. Whoever told him that didn’t know shit. 

But, maybe. It would help if he had at least one person that knew. Lift that weight off his chest, finally. He decided, later. Later he would. When he could speak without feeling like he was going to throw up.

He followed Mark inside, only wishing he'd stayed behind and said goodbye first.


End file.
